


Caged

by Dean_hugs_Sammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Imprisonment, Mental Instability, Post-Episode: s12e08 LOTUS, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_hugs_Sammy/pseuds/Dean_hugs_Sammy
Summary: It had been forty-five days so far. Forty-five days separated from his little brother, and it was driving Dean insane.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 12x08 – contains a few spoilers from 12x09.

Dean had scratched a line into the concrete wall for each day he'd been locked up in the prison cell. It was all he could do to keep a track on how much time had passed. The interior of the cell consisted of a bed, a toilet and a small mirror. There were no windows and thereby no telling when the days turned to nights – so Dean had relied on the one daily meal, and the fact that the lights were out every night, to tell the days apart.

It had been forty-five days so far. Forty-five days separated from his little brother, and it was driving Dean insane. He knew that Sam had been locked in a cell just a few doors away from him, but the knowledge didn't console him much. Whether his little brother was in a cell a few feet away or had been in a completely different part of the country, it wouldn't have mattered - they were still separated and the cells were soundproofed so, even if Dean shouted until his face turned blue, Sam wouldn't be able to hear him.

As much as Dean hated to be locked up, he knew that it was water under a bridge compared to how Sam felt about being imprisoned – caged, one could also call it. Ever since he'd been locked away in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael, Sam had been a traumatized man and his coping mechanism, when it came to being locked up in any way or form, was damaged. Hell, even small rooms could be a struggle for him in the post-cage days. It was easier for Sam to deal with it when Dean was there to keep him grounded though – stone number one and all. Dean had always been the one person to distract Sam from losing himself in the shadows of his own mind, but Dean couldn't be there for Sam this time. So that was Dean's biggest concern of it all; how his brother had managed the past forty-five days.

Dean himself felt more than a little haggard at this point. When he looked at his own reflection in the small mirror in his cell, he barely recognized the man staring back at him. The bags underneath his eyes were a telltale of many sleepless nights, and the greyish color of his skin had begun to resemble the concrete walls around him.

With his back against the wall and his butt planted on the cold floor, Dean sighed heavily and rubbed at his tired face. It had been completely unnecessary for him and his brother to have ended up in this situation in the first place – accused of attempting to murder the President of the United States. He and Sam should have left the motel room the moment Lucifer was expelled from the president's body. They should have hurried out the backdoor instead of sticking around until they'd been surrounded by Secret Service agents. Dean got angry at himself when he thought about how easily he and Sam had been captured – hell, they'd managed to get out of direr situations than this in the past. But no, they'd ended up getting arrested for attempted assassination of the frigging president, and they'd both been shaken by the consequences of it. Sam had looked absolutely terrified as they'd been cuffed and led to the waiting armored police van, and had, as usual, sought out Dean for consolation. Dean had, however, not been able to provide Sam with any sort of solace, and Dean knew that it had most likely terrified his brother even more.

If the brothers had only been locked away together instead of apart, it would have been so much different. They would have been able to keep each other sane, and together try to figure out a way to escape from this godforsaken place. The isolation was horrible and, when he wasn't worrying sick about Sam, Dean spent his time humming his favorite songs or testing himself in supernatural knowledge.

_\- How do you kill a shapeshifter, Dean?_

_Silver bullet to the heart._

_\- Bingo. You're awesome!_

_I know._

Dean also reminisced things from when he and Sam had been kids – memories that filled him with warmth and helped him get through the long, lonely days and nights.

However, on this day – on the forty-fifth day isolated in a cell – there was finally a turn of events. The door, that had been closed ever since Dean was imprisoned, suddenly opened without warning, and Dean jumped to his feet instantaneously, warily watching the person entering his cell.

"Winchester." The man, whom Dean recognized as the agent that had captured him and Sam, spoke with a self-confident smirk.

The agent was not wearing his suit this time. Instead, he was dressed in a black jacket, camouflage pants and a black army beanie. He was also wearing combat boots, and in his hands he carried a military rifle. A bad feeling began prickling down Dean's back. His fingers drummed restlessly against his side as he desperately wished he'd had some kind of weapon on him - anything he could use to defend himself with, in case the agent decided to take a shot at him. But the jumpsuit he was wearing carried no such thing. The sparse interior inside the cell wasn't much to go by either, but it'd have to do if it came down to it.

"Didn't take us a lot of time to find out that you and your brother have a long track record with the law." The agent said, and Dean narrowed his eyes at him but otherwise remained silent. "Credit card fraud, grave desecrations, breaking and entering, armed robbery, just to name a few. Ah, and not to forget; a countless number of first-degree murders. You've been assumed dead – more than once, it appears. But here you are. Still alive."

The agent stopped talking for a moment, apparently to observe Dean's reaction to the stream of accusations. Dean, however, remained silent and stoic. He noticed that another man had shown up behind the agent – a grey-haired man who looked older than the first agent but was dressed the exact same way. Another agent? Dean felt more than a little threatened at this point. What the hell was their purpose of suddenly breaking radio silence after more than six weeks in this place?

"And now you've decided to up your game by attempting to assassinate the president." The agent continued. "I must say, I'm almost impressed by all the things you've managed to get away with."

"I assume this isn't a social call." Dean finally croaked out in a voice rusty from disuse. "You here to kill me? Hmm? Is that it?"

"That was the plan, yes." The agent answered with a grim look.

Dean suddenly turned cold, and his heart started pounding faster. It wasn't so much because he assumed he was about to face the end of a barrel, not really – no, it was more the fact that he was petrified that the agents had already visited, and killed, his little brother.

"However," the agent continued. "that's unfortunately not how things work here. As disappointing as it may be, murdering prisoners in their cells is rather frowned upon. Even scumbag prisoners… like you."

The agent gave a short nod to the older man behind him who then walked further down the corridor – in the direction of where Dean knew they kept Sam. The realization gave Dean some relief since it meant that they probably hadn't visited his brother yet and thereby hadn't involved Sam in whatever the reason behind all of this was.

"What do you want then? You here to paint my toenails? Should we braid each other's hair?" Dean asked the agent in a cocky way.

"We're transferring you to another facility." The agent revealed.

"Another facility?" Dean asked with suspicion, sensing something fishy going on since the agent had bragged so much about this place when they'd gotten there – especially about the security and secrecy of it. Why suddenly change the location?

Before Dean could ask more questions and before the agent could say anything else, the older agent showed up again with an exasperated look on his face.

"We've got a problem." The older agent revealed. "The other one isn't moving."

"What do you mean he isn't moving?" The agent asked – a question Dean also wanted an answer to straight away.

"He's just sitting in a corner. He's not dead but he's unresponsive." The older agent said which made the other agent sigh in obvious frustration.

"We don't have time for this!" The younger agent exclaimed and glared at Dean as if he was the one to blame for the delay in their schedule. "You. You get him up. And no funny business or I'll shoot you in the back."

The agent gestured with his rifle for Dean to move – an order Dean gladly accepted. He'd wanted to get to Sam for the last forty-five days and now, with the new info that Sam was unmoving and unresponsive in his cell, the need to see his brother was even more urgent. Dean had to contain himself tremendously in order not to run to Sam's cell as fast as he could, and he also had to restrain himself as to not pound on the door with his fists until one of the agents finally opened up the door with some sort of identification access card. The second the deed was done though, Dean practically flew into the cell – heart pounding rapidly as he sought out his little brother and found said brother sprawled out in the far corner of the cell. Sam's long legs were spread out in front of him, arms lying motionless at his sides, and his head was turned slightly to the side – Sam's curtain of a hair covering his face and hiding it from view.

"I've got this." Dean announced to the two agents in hopes that they wouldn't change their minds about him helping his brother, and he then carefully approached Sam as one would approach a wounded animal. "Sam?"

His brother didn't acknowledge him as Dean crouched down in front of him. He just stayed completely unmoving – a sight that troubled Dean more than he cared to admit. Had he not seen the slow, but steady, rise and fall of Sam's chest, Dean would have feared his brother was dead.

"Sammy." Dean said, shaky fingers cautiously brushing back Sam's bangs before sliding down to lift up his chin. "Hey."

Dean drew in a sharp breath. If he'd thought the bags underneath his eyes were bad, it was nothing compared to the dark furrows he was spotting below Sam's eyes. Sam lips were dry and cracked, and his bloodshot eyes rolled aimlessly around in his head.

"Today, Winchester!" The voice of the younger agent sounded from the cell's doorway, and Dean clenched his jaw hard at the agent's impatience before focusing entirely on his brother again. How long had Sam been in this state?

"Sammy, look at me." Dean said in a firm, yet soft voice, and felt grateful when Sam's rolling eyes finally settled onto his. "That's it, little brother."

To Dean's big relief, recognition immediately lit up Sam's eyes by the sight of his big brother. Sam's lips were so dry that it took him a couple of tries to be able to form words and, when he finally did, a whispered "Dean" was all his hoarse voice managed to produce.

"The one and only." Dean said with a wry smile, and the amount of relief that shone in Sam's eyes at that moment made his heart clench painfully.

One of the agents cleared his throat, which made Sam turn his gaze over Dean's shoulder, and his kid brother startled a bit as he seemed to realize then that they weren't alone. He swallowed nervously before turning his eyes back to Dean.

"What's going on?" Sam asked him in that hoarse voice of his.

Dean was proud that, despite how awful Sam looked and probably felt at this moment, his little brother still seemed to be on high alert. And Dean really needed Sam's hunter skills right now if they were to get out of this – if not as free men, then at least still alive.

"They say they're transferring us to a different facility." Dean answered with an encouraging squeeze to Sam's upper arm. "Come on, we gotta move."

It was when Dean grabbed Sam's arm to pull his brother to his feet that he noticed the wound on Sam's left palm and the fingernails that were bloody and ragged on both hands. An unnerving feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, as Dean pictured how Sam could have possibly gotten these injuries. However, now was not the time to dwell on it. Not when they had two agents with doubtful intentions pointing their military rifles at them.

When Dean helped Sam up from the floor and held on to Sam while his kid brother found his footing, he let the natural way Sam leaned into his side be a cover as he carefully whispered into Sam's ear; "Let's Hilts/McQueen these two, Sammy."

Sam didn't say anything or reveal in any way to the two agents that Dean had spoken to him, but his brother did let Dean know that he'd understood the message by giving Dean's arm a quick squeeze.

"Get moving!" One of the agents ordered and practically tore Sam away from Dean's hold while the other one had his rifle pointed straight at Dean.

Sam, still not completely stabile on his legs, stumbled a bit but managed to catch himself, and Dean glared darkly at the agent that had manhandled his brother so roughly. The agent didn't seem to care much about Dean's disapproval though, and the two brothers were then led down the corridor, guided by the rifles at their backs. The agents were disconcertingly quiet behind them, and Dean once again got a strong feeling that this wasn't just a regular transfer. The tense sideway glances Sam gave Dean only confirmed his suspicion.

They were led outside the facility – an area surrounded by forest as far as the eye could see. There was barely any daylight left but the area was lit up by large lamp posts. It was definitely not the easiest place to attempt an escape but, in Dean's opinion, not the most difficult place either with lots of hiding places and trees that could be used as protection against flying bullets. The armored police van was waiting for them but, unlike the last time, Dean and Sam weren't shackled on their hands and feet. Hell, even the massive crowd of security they'd been greeted with forty-five days ago was missing too. The rifles, that had practically been touching their backs ever since they left Sam's cell, had remarkably eased up as well, and the sloppy move was all the brothers needed to kick off their escape. Dean knew they weren't gonna get a bigger chance than this, and one look at Sam confirmed that his brother knew it too.

Dean gave Sam a discreet nod and, two seconds later, the brothers did a classic turn-and-disarm move. Sam had faced the older agent – had in one swift move turned around, grabbed on to the rifle and used the butt of it to knock the agent out. Dean, on the other hand, hadn't been as lucky with the younger of the agents. It was as if the agent had anticipated the move. As Dean had spun around and grabbed a hold of the rifle, the agent pulled the rifle backwards and a wrestling match of it had begun – with Dean on the dangerous side of the rifle. As soon as Sam knocked out the older agent though, he immediately intervened in Dean's fight. His kid brother pulled the rifle upwards, efficiently moving it out of harm's way for Dean, but the agent retaliated with an elbow to Sam's nose. However, the distraction was enough for Dean to place a kick that successfully swept the agent off his feet.

"Sam, go!" Dean shouted, grabbed Sam's sleeve and pulled Sam with him as the two of them made a run for it.

Shots were already being fired at them by the guards that had been mysteriously absent just a few minutes ago – one bullet narrowly missing Dean as it bounced of a tree log mere inches from his head. It was when Dean looked back for a short second that he saw the pleased expression on the young agent's face, and suddenly understood what the purpose had been with this so-called transfer. It had never actually been the plan to transfer him and Sam anywhere. They'd wanted to get rid of the two of them all along. The agent had said that they couldn't shoot prisoners in their cells – there was probably a buttload of security cameras inside the facility that made it impossible to kill anyone unnoticed. However, it was quite legal for these men to kill prisoners if they tried to escape, and that had been the reason behind the sloppiness in their security.

"Fuck." Dean muttered as it all dawned on him; they'd walked straight into a trap. The agents had wanted them to attempt an escape.

A lightshow of green beams danced around them – a telltale of numerous laser scopes from military rifles aimed in their direction. Sam, whose nose was bloody from the collision with the agent's elbow, was falling a few steps behind, and Dean quickly grabbed onto his brother and pushed him ahead of him.

"Come on, Sam. Come on!" Dean ordered, slightly out of breath.

They kept on running as fast as their legs could carry them. They were both tired though - Sam had barely been able to stand on his legs when Dean had gotten to him in the cell. So it wasn't surprising when Sam's foot, a little while later, caught a tree root that sent him tumbling onto the ground with a cry.

"Sammy, get up!" Dean called out urgently.

They'd gained a little lead on their pursuers, but Dean knew that the soldiers weren't far enough away for them to ease up on their escape now.

"Can't." Sam grimaced, and seemed more than a little out of breath as Dean got to him and started pulling him up. "Dean, stop."

"We don't have time for a siesta, we're gonna -" Dean started when Sam cut him off mid-sentence.

"I twisted my foot." Sam revealed, blinking up at Dean with a panicked look. "I can't run, Dean. You gotta go. Just leave me here."

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "Sam, we've been over this a thousand times; I'm not leaving you! I'm getting us both out of here – even if I have to carry your giant ass all the way! You understand me?"

Sam started to protest but Dean ignored it and was already pulling Sam to his feet. He caught his little brother when Sam hissed as he'd accidentally pushed down on his injured foot. Dean dragged one of Sam's arms over his shoulders and started moving forward once more, with his limping brother clinging to his side.

The green beams were disturbingly close now. The brothers stumbled through some bushes and walked straight into a small creek that passed through the woods. The water was freezing cold and they both gasped as the water immediately seeped through the fabric of their jumpsuits. Struggling through the water slowed them down even more, and they'd barely gotten to the other side of it when soldiers showed up close behind them. Before they could disappear behind trees once more, one of the soldiers fired his rifle and Dean cried out as the bullet grazed his left shoulder.

"Dean!" Sam gasped in horror, but Dean just shook his head at his worried little brother.

"I'm alright." Dean hissed out between clenched teeth. "Just keep moving."

Sam didn't look very convinced. He didn't say anything though – just seemed to focus his energy on continuing onward as much as he physically could. However, it was starting to look like a lost battle for them. They were both exhausted and injured, and the damn military unit was closing in on them second by second. Sam suddenly gasped in pain as his injured foot took more weight than it was capable of. His eyes rolled up inside his head, and he would have gone down had Dean not had a strong hold of him.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, desperately trying to keep them both up while the pain throbbed in his injured shoulder. "Sammy? Come on. Don't pass out on me now, bro."

Unfortunately though, Sam went limp against his side. Dean could tell the soldiers were close and tightened his hold on his brother - not at all ready to let go of Sam. He found some solace in the fact that, when the soldiers did catch up with them, they would at least go out together this time.

Nevertheless, as things seemingly couldn't get much darker than they already were, there was a lucky turn of events for them. Two figures appeared on a path somewhere in front of them, and Dean froze on the spot, expecting bullets to be fired at them. But the bullets never came, and Dean soon realized that the figures had nothing to do with the law enforcements at all.

"Dean! Sam!" His mother called as she and Cas came running towards them.

"Oh, thank God!" Mary exclaimed and Dean could have cried in relief. "Are you alright?"

"They're right behind us." Dean breathed out, gratefully accepting the help as his mom jumped into action and took half of Sam's weight.

"I'll distract them. You go to the car." Cas said and started running in the direction of the nearing laser beams.

With his mother's help, Dean covered the remaining distance to the waiting car without too much trouble. Together they maneuvered an unconscious Sam into the backseat of Mary's car, and Dean quickly climbed inside too – using his thigh as a pillow for his brother's head. Sam looked way too pale for Dean's liking, and the color was a sharp contrast to the dark furrows underneath his brother's eyes and the crimson of his bloody nose.

Dean looked up as his mom jumped into the driver's seat of the car and turned on the ignition, making the car roar to life. Not two seconds later, the passenger side door was ripped open and one piece of trench coat-wearing angel threw himself inside.

"Go!" Cas shouted.

Mary quickly put the car into gear and hit the gas pedal – speeding away while bullets came flying after them. Dean ducked as the rear window exploded in a rain of glass, flinging himself protectively over Sam so that the glass wouldn't hit him. Their mom pushed harder on the gas pedal and didn't ease up until the bullets could no longer reach them.

Dean put a hand on top of Sam's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall underneath his palm when Sam breathed in and out. He then leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes with a relieved sigh, and finally allowed himself some rest.

The forest was soon behind them.

**_ SPN _**

When Sam blinked his eyes open, the sight of a familiar ceiling fan was spinning above him. His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he wondered when and how he'd ended up in his room back in the bunker. The last thing he remembered was him and his brother running through the woods, trying to avoid getting shot after escaping from their prison.

A shudder went through Sam as he thought of the cell he'd been locked away in. He had absolutely no idea how long he'd been there, but he knew he hadn't handled it very well. At first, Sam had used his logical side to try to find a way to escape his cell. It had proven impossible to break out of it though, and the longer time Sam had spent isolated and with unwanted flashbacks from his time in the Cage to deal with, it didn't take long before it felt like the walls were closing in on him. The days had been long and hard to get through, but the nights had been worse. The darkness had seemed to swallow him whole, and Sam swore he'd seen the red glow of Lucifer's eyes taunting him in the dimness. Sam had shouted for his brother every night – shouted until his voice had given out, but Dean hadn't been able to hear him. He'd soon started losing touch on reality, and had tried to use his old trick with a finger pushed into the faded scar on his left palm. Other times, Sam had been so desperate that he'd literally clawed at the concrete walls with his fingers to try to scratch his way out. Sam hadn't touched much of the food and water he'd been given either, and it'd just made his condition worse.

But Sam wasn't in the cell anymore – nor was he spending an eternity in the Cage with two angry archangels. No, he was lying in his bed, in his own room in the bunker with the old ceiling fan spinning around and around above him.

As Sam tried to sit up, pain shot through his foot and he had to stop himself from moving any further. He peeked down the length of the bed and saw that his foot had been bandaged and was elevated on a couple of pillows. Sam's left hand had also been bandaged – as had all ten of his fingers – and he didn't question for a second who had taken care of him. In fact, his caretaker was seated in a chair beside his bed, feet propped up on the bed, and head leaned back while his soft snores filled the silence of the room.

A warm feeling spread inside Sam's chest by the sight of his big brother. How many times in his life had Sam woken up to find Dean keeping vigil at his side? Too many times to count.

Sam pulled off the blanket, that'd been on top of his bed covers, and carefully draped it over his sleeping brother – especially being careful not to touch Dean's bandaged shoulder. Dean didn't as much as twitch a muscle in the process though – a true telltale of how exhausted Dean must have been. Sam leaned back on his bed again and stared at his sleeping brother, watching over Dean the same way he always watched over Sam.

The two of them were once again wanted men – probably now more than ever as they were believed to have tried to off the president. He and Dean probably had to keep a low profile for a while and would then, as always, find a way to deal with this new crappy situation. That was what they did, and had done, for as long as Sam could remember.

"We're gonna be alright though." Sam whispered and smiled as Dean continued to snore.

No click-flicks rule or not, Dean would be on the receiving end of a hug as soon as he woke back up.

* * *

 

**THE END**


End file.
